


Staying in Place

by churkey



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Accidental Relationship, Anxiety, Derek Hale Takes Care of Stiles Stilinski, Derek Hale is a Softie, Diagnostic Overshadowing, Domestic Fluff, Fluff, Future Fic, M/M, Misdiagnosis, Oblivious Stiles Stilinski, Panic Attacks, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Schizophrenia, Stiles Stilinski Deserves Nice Things, derek is a nice thing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-11
Updated: 2020-09-11
Packaged: 2021-03-06 16:14:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,727
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26411710
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/churkey/pseuds/churkey
Summary: Stiles heard once that if you're lost you should stay where you are, to make it easier for the people who might be searching to find you.
Relationships: Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski
Comments: 41
Kudos: 464





	Staying in Place

**Author's Note:**

> I promised fluff and I deliver it!
> 
> I figured after the last fic, Stiles deserved to be pampered and cherished.

Stiles stares at the letter. It’s the result of his application to be a summer intern at the FBI.

His dad has _always_ been his hero.

He’d set his sights on the FBI because, well, why not?

He could be a hero. Just like his dad. Especially after surviving high school.

He feels _crushed_. Like the last bit of optimism he had about the future just snuffed out.

Long nights finishing his homework. Pushing and pushing and _pushing_ himself to not let his grades suffer.

 _Needing_ to believe he could achieve what he’d been dreaming about since he was a kid.

His application was rejected.

Denied.

He didn’t clear the security check.

Stiles feels too numb to even cry about this.

The nogitsune fucked _so much_ up for him. And now, it’s ruined his chance at working for the FBI. Probably all law enforcement.

Years gone and it _still_ manages to kill his childhood dream.

In a haze of sleep deprivation and desperation, he’d checked himself into Eichen House. Talking about sleepwalking and hallucinations. Worried that he’d be a danger to others.

Except it’d been a horror movie cliche. And that was _before_ they’d found out about the supernatural wing.

He can’t remember much about his stay. He hadn’t stayed the full 72 hours. Hadn’t even really talked to any doctors after his intake.

He’d still been slapped with a diagnosis. They’d diagnosed him with schizophrenia.

This _might_ not have disqualified him but _he’d_ checked himself in because he’d been worried about being a danger to others. It meant that he was a possibly _violent_ schizophrenic. Who wasn’t treating his mental illness.

Apparently, Eichen House had been very helpful. Adding all kinds of extra shit to his file. Mentioning his resistant behaviour and how he’d left early.

His current medical records show _no_ treatment for it.

It all means he’s too _crazy_ to work for the FBI.

His madness is unchecked. He can’t be trusted with sensitive information. Possibly dangerous.

He _can’t_ seek treatment because he doesn’t actually _have_ schizophrenia. And he can’t dispute his file. Not without mentioning the supernatural.

Which no one would believe because it would only confirm the diagnosis!

He has _no_ idea what he’s going to do with his life. He has no backup plan.

This had been his dream and it’s _dead_.

* * *

Stiles heard once that if you’re lost you should stay where you are, to make it easier for the people who might be searching to find you.

He knew that the advice was literal.

If you were lost in a forest, staying in place was the best way to be found.

It wasn’t a metaphor. It didn’t apply to people who just felt lost in life.

Stiles didn’t have any better ideas.

* * *

He’s the only one left in Beacon Hills.

Derek left first. Gone after he evolved.

Some died. (Too many died.)

Most of the pack graduated and went to colleges all over the place.

Stiles always assumed that packs were supposed to be tied together by something more meaningful than proximity and shared trauma. It could still be true—for packs not created in a seemingly unending conflict. Stiles wouldn’t know.

What happened to the pack is what happens to high school friends everywhere: they ventured off into the world, met new people, and drifted apart.

Growing up, was what people called it.

Of course, their group had more reason than most not to return home. Stepping out into the big world and realizing that life didn’t have to be a series of terrifying and traumatizing events made it easy to drift (easy to _want_ to drift).

Same with the sad fact that most of them hadn’t been friends, before being thrown together. Different people with different interests.

The last time he’d seen everyone was at his dad’s funeral.

Stiles has learned a hard lesson about living your life for other people. About clinging so tightly to some foolish notion that you lose all sense of self.

As a kid, he’d defined himself in relation to his dad and Scott.

His big dream was to work in law enforcement.

His dream had died and they were both gone and he had no idea who he was.

There was no pack. Things had been quiet.

Everything that had driven him, that had defined Stiles as a teen was gone.

He felt lost.

So he stayed in place.

Partly in the hopes that someone would find him. Partly because he didn’t know what else to do.

* * *

Stiles, for the most part, was okay with his lot in life.

Sure, he was bitter. And, okay, he was lonely.

He’d also grown up enough to realize that choices had consequences. He can’t say he’d’ve made different ones.

Stiles wished that he’d cared more about himself. That sometimes he’d put himself first. Maybe then, he’d know how to live for himself.

Life, these days, plodded along at a slow pace.

A good thing, he supposed, considering his misspent youth caught up with him. Turns out that you _can’t_ spend your formative years as a human running with wolves and getting hurt, with no lasting impact.

He didn’t care about the unsightly scars that made people cringe and stare in horror.

He cared about joints that ached. About how he felt like his body was twenty years older.

Stiles was probably in the best shape of his life. If he didn’t stay active, especially with swimming and yoga, his joints hurt all the more and would lock up.

He could deal.

He was more… embarrassed about the mental scars.

Flashbacks and PTSD were no joke. His anxiety wasn’t a treat either. Between the two he had more panic attacks than any single person should.

(And he _won’t_ discuss his non-existent schizophrenia. He has enough problems.)

He couldn’t drive anymore. A few too many accidents caused by a flashback when he was behind the wheel. It had been his decision. After everything he’d done to protect Beacon Hills, he wasn’t going to risk hurting someone because he refused to face the reality of his situation.

Not that he had anywhere to drive, these days. He had a small apartment above a store. Stiles worked from home.

That was it.

His life.

Going to the pool and doing yoga at home. Usually only leaving to run errands.

He had no friends. He hadn’t had a single relationship. Hell, he was still a _virgin_.

He was staying in place.

* * *

One thing that was still true was his love of research.

He couldn’t forget that the supernatural existed. Even if things were quiet in Beacon Hills, creatures and beings still lived here.

Stiles had a reputation. Those in the know knew he’d been part of the pack. They also knew that he’d become a veritable library of supernatural information.

He was asked a lot of questions.

Stiles spent most of his free time maintaining and updating a really crappy looking website. It looked like it had been designed in the late 90s. It was filled with pages and pages of information about the supernatural.

Some accurate. Some false.

It was an interesting challenge mixing in the accurate information with the false so that people who _knew_ and needed the info could find it but, for anyone else, it looked like some crappy fantasy website designed by a nerd in the 90s.

It looked like nothing on it could possibly be true.

The website, though, received a _lot_ of hits. Significantly more than the design suggested it should. He served obnoxious ads and they generated the money he needed to live.

Not a huge amount. But enough.

(He didn’t need much.)

Stiles was always amused by the speculation over who ran the site. He belonged to a few forums and listservs; his website often came up with absurd theories about who he was.

The site had a good reputation as one of the best online resources.

He never took credit. Had zero desire to deal with the shit that would likely come his way for posting all that info.

* * *

Stiles was sitting at a table outside the coffee shop. Enjoying the sun and typing away at his laptop when a shadow fell over him.

He looked up and blinked at the bright sun.

His eyes adjusted and he found himself looking at Derek Hale.

His brain just sort of… stalled out.

Blue screen of death.

It couldn’t compute the visual information it was receiving.

Because _Derek Hale_ could not be looming over him in Beacon Hills.

Derek had left.

 _Everyone_ had left.

Except Derek was _here_.

“Stiles.”

Well, fuck. Only one person on this planet could imbue his name with so much meaning.

“Derek. Hi! You’re, um, here. In Beacon Hills. Um… it’s good to see you?” Stiles said. Or maybe asked.

Then the reality of the situation caught up with him and he was lurching to his feet and tightly hugging Derek.

It’d been _so long_ since he’d seen Derek. And, well, they definitely hadn’t been at the hugging stage but Stiles hoped that the years had mellowed Derek enough that he’d survive.

To his surprise and everlasting relief, Derek actually hugged him back. Giving him a solid squeeze and pretty obviously scenting him.

“Wow. Okay. Sorry, big guy. My brain totally just went offline for a moment. I never expected to see you again,” Stiles was smiling, “How are you? What’s up? Everything okay?”

Derek actually had a small smile, “I’m doing well. Everything’s okay.”

“I don’t want you to think I’m not happy to see you but I just need to make sure, no crises? You’re safe? Nothing to worry about?” Stiles asked.

“Everything’s okay, Stiles,” Derek reassured him, “I just came to see how the pack was.”

Stiles felt his heart drop, “Oh. Well. There is no pack in Beacon Hills. Not anymore. Just me. Everyone else is gone. Sorry to disappoint.”

Derek’s puzzled frown kind of hurt, so Stiles looked away.

“Scott left his territory?”

“Yeah, man. I’m sure you get it. You left first. Not that I blame you! Of everyone, you leaving made the most sense. This is a shitty town and you deserved to be somewhere you could be happy,” Stiles said.

Stiles had developed a filter over the years. He _had_. But Derek was throwing him off. And his feelings were spilling out all over the place.

“I was always going to come back. I didn’t mean to be gone for so long,” Derek said.

Now _this_ surprised Stiles, “You were always going to come back? Why?”

“I have pack here,” Derek rolled his eyes.

“Shit, it must really suck, then, to come back and find they’re all gone,” Stiles said.

“They aren’t all gone,” Derek said with the pointed look he always used to give Stiles when he was being stupid.

“What? Where? Who?”

 _“Stiles,”_ Derek growled, “ _You’re_ still here.”

“I’m your pack? _Me?_ ” he was incredulous because when had _that_ happened.

“Of course you are. I can still feel you,” Derek gestured at his chest.

Stiles’ barely recovered brain stalled out again. He had no idea _what_ to do. How to feel.

“Uh, it’s been great to see you, big guy. But I’ve got to get home and eat some food. See you around?” Stiles eventually said as he ran away.

No, wait. He’ll call it a strategic retreat.

* * *

He spent the night kicking himself. He should’ve said something. Done _anything_ but run away.

Stiles was giddy and so very glad to see Derek.

Of everyone who left, he didn’t blame Derek at all. Derek hadn’t abandoned any responsibilities. He’d lost everything. Actually _died_ before evolving. Getting out had been one of his best ideas.

Stiles had some bitter resentment towards Scott. Who was supposed to be the _alpha_ of this territory. Supposed to be Stiles’ best friend. His brother.

But not Derek.

He was also the person Stiles had least expected to come back.

He still felt lost.

So he stayed in place.

* * *

He watched in shock as Derek climbed through his window—suddenly it was like he was back in high school.

“I brought food,” Derek’s voice was gruff.

Stiles just gaped as he unloaded some bags and set the food up on the coffee table.

“All these years and you haven’t stopped being a creeper?” Stiles sputtered.

“Eat.”

Stiles wanted to throw something at Derek’s head.

But he was also way too interested in the food. He can’t remember the last thing he’d eaten. He’d gotten sucked into a research hole and lost track of time.

Stiles sat and ate.

Again, Derek didn’t say much of anything.

Stiles eventually got up and dug back into his research, vaguely aware of movement and noise in his periphery.

Sometime later he felt a nudge at his elbow.

He looked up, blinking, “Wha–?”

“It’s late. Time for bed,” Derek’s voice was quiet.

“But I just need to finish one last th–” Stiles protested as Derek hauled him out of his chair and pushing him into the bathroom.

Exhaustion hit and he decided to just go with it.

Brushed his teeth and went to his room, yawning.

Derek _tucked him in_.

Stiles thinks his brain just crashed at the absurdity, rather than falling asleep.

* * *

Derek was cooking in his kitchen.

He was cooking in _Stiles’_ kitchen and whatever he was making smelled _awesome_.

Stiles had been working and wasn’t sure when Derek had arrived. He’s pretty sure he hadn’t let Derek in.

Mostly sure.

Anyway. Stiles was _starving_ and really looking forward to eating.

“Could you cook when you were living here?” he wondered.

Derek just sort of grunted. Which… was not an answer. Stiles rolled his eyes.

It was comforting, in a way, to know that Derek was still Derek. A little softer. A lot kinder. But still Derek. Still grumpy and not super talkative.

Stiles also realized that—despite having panic attacks and PTSD—having Derek randomly pop up didn’t trigger anything.

Maybe it was the pack thing. Maybe it was because Derek represented safety and security.

Still…

* * *

Did it count as stalking if the person following you walked at your side?

Stiles wasn’t sure if Derek worked or not. When Stiles was working, he was usually so focused that Derek could have board meetings at his table and Stiles wouldn’t notice.

Either way, Derek had taken to accompanying Stiles during his daily activities.

He went to the store with Stiles. To the coffee shop. Did yoga with him—and, god, Stiles had _not_ needed the sight of Derek Hale in fucking _yoga pants_ burned into his brain. Because… that ass.

Worse… Derek went swimming with Stiles. Derek went swimming with Stiles and—being the awful not-body-shy-at-all werewolf he was—wore a _speedo_ in the pool. A speedo!

Derek was still very fit. A touch softer. No more abs which only made his hairy belly look ridiculously snuggly (Stiles wanted to stick his face there and nuzzle like no one’s business—actually it _was_ no one’s business, including his own). But the beard and, well, his everything still looked good.

It sort of made Stiles’ brain melt.

Stiles eventually got used to it, though. Having someone around meant that he’d started talking like he used to. It’d been a really long time since there’d been anyone to listen.

And Derek did. Listen, that is. He listened and talked back. Like… they had actual conversations and everything!

Stiles wasn’t entirely sure that this was his real life and not a dream.

(He didn’t count his fingers obsessively like he used to, but he did check. All ten present and accounted for.)

* * *

There was a warm, solid body in his arms. It took a while for the reality of it to really hit his brain.

Stiles was spooning Derek.

And, god, it felt _good_. So good to have someone real and warm in his bed and his arms. He sort of lost track of time, drifting on the awesome, tingly feelings.

Until he felt Derek shift and rollover. Eyes opening and a sleepy smile.

“’Morning,” he said in a sleep rough voice. Stiles could see an inner ring of brown, surrounded by green. He didn’t think he’d ever noticed that Derek had central heterochromia.

Of course, his eyes had to be as ridiculous as the rest of him.

Stiles jolted.

Had he really just been staring dreamily into Derek’s eyes?

Wait.

WAIT…

Why was Derek even in his bed? Stiles is almost 100% certain that Derek hadn’t come over last night.

(Okay, maybe about 67% certain, but that’s close enough!)

Derek just pulled Stiles in for a quick squeeze before getting up, “I’ll go make some coffee.”

He decides he doesn’t care whether or not Derek was here last night. All that matters is that he’s here, _right now_ , and making sweet _sweet_ coffee.

Stiles likes to focus on what’s important.

* * *

“Derek? Where is that shirt I like?” Stiles called out.

He was digging through his drawers, obsessed with finding the exact shirt that he wanted to wear. Accept no substitutes!

He kind of hated it when his brain got like this. Because it didn’t _matter_ what shirt he wore. Stiles had no one to impress. No one cared—including _him_ —what he wore.

And yet…

He was annoyed though because he _couldn’t_ find the shirt.

Why were there so many of Derek’s henleys and t-shirts in his drawers?

“Derek, I swear to god, if you threw out my shirt to make room for yours, I’ll make sure you regret it until the end of your days!” he mumbled, only to squawk when a piece of fabric hit his head and wrapped around it.

Pulling it off, he realized it was _The Shirt_.

* * *

Why was there so much wolf hair _everywhere?_ Well, okay, he knew _why_.

He poked Derek in the side. No, Stiles did _not_ care about leaving sleeping wolves lie. Not when the sleeping wolf needed to vacuum the hair he’d shed all over the place.

“Sourwolf, as awesome as it is that you can fully shift, it is _not_ acceptable to shed all over the place without cleaning it up,” Stiles punctuated his statement with his best growl.

Derek lazily opened an eye and yawned, showing off his _massive_ teeth, before licking his chops and shutting it again.

If Stiles had been paying more attention, he might’ve noticed the slow wagging of Derek’s tail.

“No, seriously, dude,” Stiles poked Derek again, “You need to do something about all of this hair!” Stiles went to poke Derek again but he chose that moment to pounce on Stiles, pinning him to the floor and licking his face, “Rude!”

* * *

Once upon a time, Stiles had prided himself on his ability to notice details and patterns. Unfortunately, years of peaceful living meant those skills were very rusty with disuse.

He hopes he can be forgiven for not noticing right away. Or maybe he’d just learned to embrace the now?

Either way, he was looking at a toothbrush that was decidedly _not_ his and wondering when Derek had left it.

He wandered into his room and really _looked_ at his closet and dresser. Derek’s stuff was all mixed in with his.

Stiles turned to his bed and tried to remember when was the last time he’d slept alone.

He couldn’t.

For the longest time, he’d been living by rote. Then, Derek had come back.

Stiles hadn’t known what to think about that. Hadn’t wanted to let himself hope that Derek would stay.

So he’d just kept living his life.

Derek had slipped into it without much fanfare or comment.

Stiles noticed. Of course, he noticed. Derek did a lot of small things to take care of him. Fed him, made him sleep, took him on walks…

Wait. Had Derek adopted Stiles as his _pet?_

No. _Focus._

He went into his kitchen and Derek’s stuff was all over the place. Same with the living room, where the wolf himself was.

“Um… Derek?” Stiles began, “Do you live here?”

Derek snorted, “Took you long enough.”

“ _When_ did this happen?”

“Officially? At the beginning of the month. It’s when I stopped renting my own place and changed my address,” Derek’s stupid face was looking very smug.

Stiles narrowed his eyes. He’d get Derek back for this.

_If it was the last thing he did._

* * *

These days, Stiles just accepted the days as they came.

Life was short and filled with ephemeral things.

People came and people went.

Derek didn’t go. (Or hadn’t gone yet.)

He’d found Stiles and then just shoved his way into Stiles’ life.

Like he belonged. Like he’d always been there.

Sourwolf just slipped in there, made some space for himself, and it was like he’d always been (or never left).

Then again, they’d always fit together in a weird way.

It was… Good. Very good.

Then came the day that would live on in infamy.

* * *

Stiles was working, as he often did. He was vaguely aware of movement behind him.

Derek popped in at his side, “Hey, I’m going to the store, you want anything?”

“Um… pop tarts? Stuff? Things?”

Derek chuckled, “I’ll make sure to get some extra stuff but they might be out of things.”

“Awesome, great. You’re the best, sourwolf,” Stiles was still only half-paying attention.

“I love you, too,” Derek said and he leaned in, kissing Stiles on the cheek.

It took about ten minutes.

Ten minutes and then Stiles’ brain froze, crashed, and went offline.

Derek had said he loved him. Then he’d kissed Stiles _on the cheek_. Like they were a couple and this was something they did every day.

Stiles was pretty sure they did _not_ do this every day.

Like, okay, it’d taken him weeks to realize that Derek had moved in.

This was different!

He’d been kissed! By Derek!

Was this really his _life?_

* * *

It turned out that it _was_ his life.

Stiles _finally_ lost his virginity.

* * *

Thing is…

Stiles never actually thought it would work. He could try to sound all wise or whatever, but he’d really just floundered, then got too bogged down by his mental health.

Like always, though, Derek defied expectations.

Stiles had been lost. (Maybe was still a little…)

So he’d stayed in place.

He’d stayed in place and he’d been _found_.

That’s the important part.


End file.
